Sharp beak
of a heron,
its scaly leg
poised above the murky pond.

Behind this one dot,
in which the beak ends,
so much hot
pulsating force!

The complete bird,
its blood and silver,
and wings that hold
layered violet wind

is here,
pointed at a pygmy frog
cowering
behind azolla.

If so much composure,
beauty and speed
is needed
to kill a tiny creature,

then how whole,
agile, tempestuous and warm
Death must become
to kill a single soul.